“Everybody’s just guessing, even your brother. Who’s next, your father?”
“I don’t think Jacques will discuss it with my father.”
“He seemed more concerned about the shotgun than anything else, except me.”
“You answered him well. You told him we were none of his business. Jacques would have appreciated your subtlety. I would have been blunt.”
“We could still make the papers, but I think the policemen were too afraid of your brother to blab, so maybe not.”
“Quiet intimidation is Jacques’s, how do you say . . . ?”
“Stock-in-trade?”
“Yes, stock-in-trade.”
“Mirabelle, do you have any enemies?”
“An old lover or two, perhaps,” she said, “or one of their girlfriends. I don’t think anyone is angry enough with me to send an assassin. What would be their complaint, an ill-fitting dress? I think it is more likely your Russians.”
“You could be right.”
“I am worried about you, not me.”
“Thank you,” Stone said. “Try not to worry at all. What did you mean last night when you said this wasn’t over?”
“Nothing in particular. It is just a pattern in my life that when some event occurs, it always seems to be followed by other, related events. I’ve come to expect it.”
“It’s a pessimistic outlook.”
“Then perhaps I am a pessimist.” She looked at her watch. “I must go to work. Will you drop me there?”
“Of course. My chariot awaits.”
—
STONE HAD NO TROUBLE falling asleep again in his own bed at l’Arrington. He awoke in time to make his board meeting, which included a tour of the hotel to inspect the premises. He thought Marcel’s people had done a fine job of finishing their work on time. The hotel was beginning to look like what it was supposed to be.
—
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, Rick called. “Your alleged kidnapper’s corpse did not yield much,” he said. “The man has never been arrested in Europe, his prints didn’t ring any country’s bell, and his DNA showed him to be of Western European origins, which could apply to half the population of the United States, as well as Europe, but that may indicate that he’s not Russian. Oh, and his beautiful teeth were his own. All in all, the man’s a cipher.”
“Swell.”
“By the way, the ambassador says she forgot to tell you that dinner tonight is black tie.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“See ya.” Rick hung up.
Nobody tried to kill or kidnap him that day, for which Stone was grateful.
17
Stone’s van driver knew where the American ambassador’s residence was without being told, and Stone presented himself to a butler and a pair of armed guards in the entrance hall, while some Marines looked on. He was scanned and passed through the metal detector on his second attempt, after his pen and his money clip had been deposited in a tray.
Having proved himself harmless, he followed the butler into a larger hall and blushed a little when the man loudly announced, “Mr. Stone Barrington, of New York City.” Only a few people of the two dozen present bothered to glance his way.